Six Hours
by FalconLux
Summary: The last Quidditch match of Harry and Draco's final year at Hogwarts leads to an unsettling revelation, and unexpected gratitude. "8th year", HP/DM, canon compliant, EWE, slash - nothing too graphic (Sorry!)


**Author's Note:** Another midnight plot bunny! I think they're breeding in my house, but I haven't been able to find the nest yet…

This fic was inspired by chapter 12 of Chasing Draco by HowDracoGotHisGrooveBack! Thanks for the inspiration, and I hope you enjoy.

P.S. It's so late that it's early where I am, so I hope you'll excuse any typos. I did edit, so there shouldn't be too many.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with that esteemed name. That's all JK Rowling and associates. That's why I don't make any money from this. I do it all for you, my lovely readers, so don't forget to review. *bats eyelashes sweetly*

* * *

Harry soared high over the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, watching the game taking place below him rocketing back and forth between one set of goalposts and the next as the Gryffindors battled for dominance over the Slytherins.

And all was right in the world.

Voldemort was well and truly dead. The war was over. And Harry no longer had the constant threat of imminent death looming over him. The world had shrunk down to classes, friends, and Quidditch – not necessarily in that order.

"All is right in the world," he whispered contentedly.

"Talking to yourself is fairly universally considered a sign of mental instability," a haughty voice sneered.

_And there's the downside…_

Harry glanced aside just as Draco Malfoy ascended to hover right next to him. "I know that you need to wait until I see the snitch, seeing as you can't find it yourself, but you could be a little more circumspect than to sit right next to me," Harry quipped at the blonde that had just ruined his good mood. And generally put a damper on the whole year by returning to school.

"Please, Potter, that snitch is probably in London by now."

Harry grudgingly – and silently – agreed with the git. The game was already into the third hour, and he'd not seen the slightest glint of gold – well except for once when he'd taken a dive for it only to find out that it was a Hufflepuff's snitch-shaped hair pin right before he yanked it out of her hair. He really was starting to wonder if something with the enchantment hadn't gone wrong, preventing it from staying on the pitch.

"I'm actually growing bored with watching my team beat the pants off yours," Malfoy drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. They were so high up that they could barely make out the sound of the commentating, but Harry had been following the score just fine, thank you. 230 to 80 in the Slytherin's favor was grating. To say the least. Stupid Slytherins had gotten the former coach of the English National team to give them private lessons. That was the upside to having a team captain that was very near the top of the richest wizards in England – or the world.

Harry had retaliated, of course, with the former coach of the Cannons, but… Well, the Cannons really weren't a very good team. The Gryffindors had a good team this year. Really good. They'd knocked the socks off the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. The problem was that the Slytherins were better.

"Not going to even attempt a witty comeback this time, Potter?" Malfoy sneered when Harry had evidently been quiet too long to suit him. Bloody tosser did not handle boredom very well.

Because Malfoy was right next to him, Harry withheld a groan when he heard the announcement of another goal for Slytherin. They were now up by 160. If his team didn't get it together, it wasn't going to matter if he ever found that bloody snitch. He badly wanted to go down there and start shouting orders at them, but they'd decided in practice that that wasn't a good idea. He couldn't look for the snitch if he was micromanaging his team the entire time. So he'd run the practices, and he'd set up the game plan. And now Ginny was in charge of making sure it all ran smoothly.

Harry tried really hard to not be cross with her. It wasn't her fault that the Slytherins were despicable, cheating gits. After all, their captain was the king of despicable, cheating gits.

"Potter, why don't we just agree that you lose, and we can all go inside for some lunch?" Malfoy suggested in a tone that was probably supposed to pass for reasonable. The prat stuck out his hand as if he actually expected Harry to shake him on it.

Harry had just opened his mouth to reply when he finally caught sight of the snitch. He forced his breathing to remain even as he followed it with his eyes as it dodged around the risers. If he caught it now, his team would lose. Malfoy hadn't seen it yet. If he could just keep it in sight and stall until his team managed two unmatched goals…

The snitch darted around in front of the stands, completely pissing on his plan as an excited cry rose from the spectators that had spotted it.

Draco's eyes zeroed in on it and Potter knew he was screwed.

Without waiting for Draco to confirm the source of the commotion, Harry twisted sharply down and took off with all the speed his brand new Firebolt Mark 2 could manage. Unfortunately, Draco had the same model and was hot on his tail.

They descended so rapidly toward the stands that the startled spectators didn't even have time to more than duck before Harry and Draco were right on top of them. The nimble snitch darted away as they neared it and Harry just barely pulled out of his dive before crashing into Luna, who was the only one waving instead of seeking cover, her lion-headed hat roaring at him.

The snitch dropped down over the edge and Harry executed a sharp turn that felt like it nearly dislodged his stomach and gave him a massive rush, as it had every time he'd pulled such a maneuver with his new broom. He trailed the snitch around the stand in an impossibly rapid corkscrew, doing his best to stay on his broom and block Malfoy at the same time.

Merlin, they'd better start scoring soon!

At what Harry estimated was the last possible second to pull up, the snitch veered up and over the pitch again. Harry yanked himself out of his descent so close to the ground that his toes brushed grass. With a thrill of fear – _irrational_ fear – he chanced the slightest glance to determine that Malfoy was still with him. Catching a glimpse of blond hair and green robes that proved the Slytherin hadn't planted himself in the ground permanently, Harry turned his full attention back to the snitch, which seemed to be trying to join in the match as it darted between chasers and beaters.

Harry's focus narrowed until everything in the world fell into the background. Nothing existed except for him, the snitch, Draco, and the meaningless obstacles that got in their way. More centered than he felt anywhere else in his life, Harry chased the snitch, doing everything in his power to stay between it and Draco.

_Twenty more points. Twenty more points. Twenty more points._ It echoed in his head like a mantra.

The scoring bell sounded and Harry spared enough attention to gather that it had been scored by Gryffindor.

_Ten more points. Ten more points._

Draco seemed to be experiencing the same realization, for his efforts doubled as the margin between the teams shrunk so that they would tie if Harry caught the snitch now. That was a last resort though. If there was no other way to keep Draco from catching it, Harry would, but he didn't want to tie. He wanted to win. He wanted to crush that smug Slytherin prat.

Draco was suddenly right next to him. In the moment that it took for Harry to realize that, the snitch veered to the right, closer to Draco. Nearly within his reach.

The blonde's long fingers reached for it, nearly touching it.

In desperation, Harry swerved into him. They were traveling near top speed now – nearly two hundred fifty kilometers per hour. The maneuver was reckless as it could very easily be deadly were either of them to lose his seat. Harry wouldn't have attempted it with anyone else – no matter how much he loved Quidditch, it wasn't worth getting someone killed – but he knew that Malfoy was almost unparalleled for skill on a broom. He was nearly as good as Harry was himself. Very nearly.

It worked, as far as keeping Malfoy from the snitch was concerned. Unfortunately, their footrests tangled. Hip to hip, their reckless speed turned into an uncontrolled, spinning dive.

Ground and sky began alternating so rapidly that Harry hardly knew which way was the way to safety and which would lead to a painful death. For a moment, they both struggled to free themselves, and the dive only became more uncontrolled.

In desperation, Harry's hand darted between the blonde's legs, snatching a hold on the other broom as he sought to right them both instead of trying to free himself. Somewhat surprisingly, Malfoy mimicked the grip.

Straining for all they were worth and roaring in unison with the effort, Gryffindor and Slytherin worked together for the first time in eight years. The spinning slowed, finally allowing them to angle the brooms out of the dive just a breath before meeting the grass. And then they were shooting back up into the sky once more.

They slowed and evened out somewhere around the ionosphere, the pitch barely visible below them, and Harry struggled to remember how to breathe. The altitude probably wasn't helping, but at least it was cool. He felt like he might internally combust even though he was covered in sweat.

As his heart began to slow into a range that was less likely to kill him, Harry realized that Malfoy was leaning against him – no, they were leaning against each other – the blonde's head on his shoulder and Harry's head against his. He realized it, and he really did want to jerk away in disgust. He was just too bloody tired at the moment. It was far from his first near-death experience, but it never really got easier to watch Death reaching out for you and not knowing if you could escape before it was too late.

He didn't know how long it was before Malfoy seemed to notice what he was doing, but he knew that he had when he felt the other man stiffen against him. Harry made use of Malfoy's moment of shock to reach down and untangle them before the barmy git could start pitching a fit.

As they finally drifted apart, green eyes met silver and for an immeasurable moment, they simply stared at one another, acknowledging what had just happened. Part of Harry wanted to apologize for starting that, but he knew that Malfoy would have done exactly the same thing in his position, so he kept his mouth shut. It had happened. It was no one's fault. And now it was over.

That last point, Harry decided to enunciate by breaking the eye contact and turning toward the pitch again, descending rapidly. A deafening roar rose around him as the crowd took note of his return. He waved briefly, which only spurred them on to greater noise, then turned his eyes toward the score. 100 to 240. A 140 point spread.

Relieved, he rose a bit higher, scouring the pitch for that telltale golden spec which dictated his life on this pitch.

It had vanished again, he'd determined by the time Malfoy returned to his side. He glanced at the blonde, who was not looking at him, and decided that ignoring him wasn't a bad idea.

Another hour passed in boredom for the seekers, who mostly avoided so much as looking at each other. The score now sat at 160 to 260. The Gryffindors were making a comeback – thankfully – but both teams were clearly becoming incredibly weary. Mistakes and fouls were becoming more common than anything else, and scoring was beginning to fall off severely.

Harry and Draco were again hovering side by side well above the stands, both scrutinizing the pitch for that elusive snitch.

"Where'd you get the new firebolt?" Draco asked completely out of the blue.

Harry looked at him warily, but Draco wasn't sneering or scowling. He looked tired, and mildly curious. Under any other circumstances, Harry probably would have snapped something scathing, evaded the question, and then distanced himself from his long-time rival. Now, he just sighed. "Signing bonus," he admitted.

Draco's brow rose, proving that he actually was interested. Oddly. "You've already signed with a team?"

"Puddlemere United," Harry admitted. "I start next season."

Draco didn't respond and silence settled again for a good quarter hour before Harry finally decided that enough was enough. He descended down into the game and called a timeout before one of his weary team got seriously injured. Ginny had nearly taken a bludger to the head a few minutes ago, and she looked in danger of making another mistake.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle and announced a half-hour break.

Harry nearly collapsed when his feet touched the ground, holding onto his now hovering broom for support. The rest of his team was in even worse shape as they'd been playing hard while he'd mostly hovered and waited.

He'd barely managed two steps when Hermione almost flattened him with a hug. After so long on a broom, his legs didn't want to adjust to standing again.

"Harry, you idiot!" Hermione gasped.

He chuckled quietly at being hugged and insulted at the same time.

"What the hell were you thinking? It's just a bloody game, Harry! You could've _died_!"

Ginny was smirking as she joined them, wearily prying Hermione away and clapping Harry on the back hard enough to make him sway. "Good job on not dying, Harry. I think the whole bloody school aged about ten years when you almost turned into a Harry-Malfoy pancake."

Harry chuckled dryly at his ex-girlfriend's exhausted attempt at humor. "If you'll excuse us, Hermione, we need to strategize. You can go ahead and make a list of things to yell at me for and I'll be happy to listen if this match ever ends. Well, after I've slept for a few days."

With a small, amused smile warring against the stern look she was attempting to give him, Hermione allowed Harry to pass her and make his way into the locker room.

Harry faced his exhausted team and summoned what there was of his energy remaining to give them a brief pep talk. Brief, not only for his own exhaustion, but the fact that he imagined they'd all doze off on him if he tried anything longer. The short speech basically consisted of reminding everyone that the Slytherins were foul, cheating gits and that Gryffindor was going to win this game for Dumbledore, which brought sincere but unenergetic cheers.

Ginny transfigured benches into cots while he was talking, and everyone had taken one by the time he was done. He took the last, and stared at the ceiling for a little while as the rest of his team began to snore. Especially Ginny. She snored louder than anyone. Merlin, he was glad he was no longer planning on spending much time sleeping next to her.

He'd been completely convinced that they were meant for each other before he'd gone to hunt horcruxes last year. When he'd come back, he'd still believed that. It wasn't until the first time they'd had sex that he'd discovered she really was more like a sister than a potential wife. He'd also learned that night that he'd never have a wife at all, as he was pretty sure he was gay.

Pretty sure had become sure over the next few months of introspection, and one weekend with a nice muggle man who'd talked him into a fling "just to be sure". He hadn't come out to anyone other than his closest friends, since he hadn't really found a bloke that he particularly fancied, and therefore he didn't see the point.

For some stupid reason, his last thought before sleep claimed him was of silver eyes and terribly soft blond hair under his cheek.

He barely had time to blink before the bell sounded, signaling that the match would resume in five minutes. He forced himself to get up, groaning as his entire body protested vehemently to the movement. "Get up!" he shouted to the room in general, several of which had blinked but not moved. The rest still seemed to be unconscious.

By the time he got his team up and moving, they had only one minute to make it onto the field.

Harry couldn't repress a small smile when he faced off against Malfoy to find the always impeccable man looking disheveled and exhausted. To his surprise, Malfoy smirked in return. It made Harry wonder how awful he must look.

The match resumed with a little more fervor as the slightly more rested players got back to it.

Harry and Malfoy hovered together over the pitch again, bleary eyes searching for a non-existent snitch.

"You think it's just hiding out under one of the stands?" Malfoy asked eventually.

"Probably," Harry chuckled. "You can go check them if you want."

Malfoy nodded, "I'll get right on that."

He didn't move.

"What are you doing after graduation?" Harry asked randomly after sitting in silence for a while longer.

Malfoy shrugged. "Family business."

"What does your family actually do?" Harry had to ask. In all the years he'd been "acquainted" with the Malfoy's, he'd never known.

"We own like half a Wizarding Britain," he said neutrally. "Buildings, businesses, Quidditch teams – yes, including yours."

Harry's brow rose, somewhere between impressed and indignant. He didn't like the idea of playing for a team owned by _Malfoy_. But, seeing as Malfoy evidently hadn't known that he had signed with them, he guessed that there wasn't much micromanaging involved. That would probably be okay then. Just so the git stayed out of it when it came to him.

Of course by "we" Malfoy meant "I". Lucius had died in Azkaban a month after the war – before his trial had even started – in a fight with another inmate. Narcissa had died in an "accident" shortly after the funeral. Only the accident sounded a lot like a suicide.

Despite his long-standing determination to loathe Malfoy for all eternity, Harry did feel a pang of sympathy for the man having lost his parents – even if they had been Death Eaters.

The match entered the sixth hour without another sign of the snitch. Harry was _almost _starting to wish he'd just let Malfoy catch the bloody thing. He could be in his dorm sleeping right now.

"So why'd you dump the Weaslette?" Malfoy inquired. Their banter had been growing increasingly frequent and unrestrained as the hours of boredom mounted.

Harry shrugged, "I didn't dump her."

"There's no way she dumped you," Malfoy said dubiously.

"It was mutual," Harry corrected. "We just realized that we're not right for each other."

Malfoy turned a bit to look at Harry more directly, silver eyes scrutinizing.

"What?" Harry asked uncomfortably when the look was starting to become a stare.

"I knew it," Malfoy smirked. "The Savior's bent."

Harry was glad that he was too tired to properly blush. Unfortunately, he was also too tired to bother trying to figure out how to deny it. He just sighed and kept his eyes peeled for the snitch, hoping that it would show up while Malfoy was distracted.

"Damn, it's actually true," Malfoy said, sounding legitimately surprised. "I thought I was just teasing."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry groused, hating it that he sounded so defensive.

The blonde shrugged and finally turned his eyes back to the pitch. "Like I care if you're bent, Potter," he said with a genuine indifference in his tone.

And Harry realized that he actually did like something about Draco Malfoy – apart from his stupid pretty eyes and even stupider soft hair. Malfoy legitimately did not give two shits about Harry's celebrity status. He had a relatively small collection of friends that truly saw him as a person instead of a symbol or something equally ridiculous. It was kind of nice to realize that there was one more person out there – even if he was the furthest thing from a friend.

The score was up to 280 to 320 with the Slytherins still leading by a narrowing margin.

"Would you stop that!" Malfoy snapped.

Harry blinked, following the silver gaze down to where he'd been drumming a beat absently against his broom. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. "Sorry," he sighed, forcing his hands to still. "Where the bloody _hell _is that snitch?"

"Probably on its way to the continent," Malfoy suggested.

Harry huffed a laugh, beyond finding it strange that he was laughing at something Malfoy had said, and neither of them were angry. He turned his broom slightly, searching the other side of the pitch more carefully. It _had _to be there somewhere. "You know, the last time you said something like that, we both nearly died," he pointed out.

"It's not my fault you rammed me at top speed," Malfoy sniped back, though it lacked heat.

"You'd have done exactly the same thing in my place," Harry pointed out.

"Like I would be in your place, Potter," the blonde drawled lazily. "My team would never be down by a hundred and sixty points."

"Give it another six hours," Harry smirked.

Malfoy grimaced, "Dear Gods, do not even suggest that, Potter!"

Harry chuckled. And then he saw it. Hovering right above the ground in the middle of the pitch.

No reason to hesitate this time, Harry launched himself into a vertical dive. He didn't think that Malfoy had spotted the snitch, but he was still on Harry's tail in a heartbeat.

Familiar tunnel vision closing in again, Harry's heart hammered with exhilaration as he plummeted toward the ground. He would never stop loving this game!

The snitch fled before him, darting straight back up into the air.

Harry banked sharply, shooting up after it. He could practically feel Malfoy's breath on his neck for how close the Slytherin was behind him as they shot straight back up after that tiny gold ball.

Harry extended his arm, just centimeters away from winning the game. He strained for just a little more speed.

The snitch suddenly banked to the left and Harry cut after it, closing enough distance to wrap his hand around it at the same time that he crashed into Malfoy again. The impact was brief this time, and then he was flying free again, the snitch in his hand. The Quidditch Cup secured for Gryffindor.

After just a moment to savor, he glanced back to appreciate Malfoy's sullen sneer.

But the Slytherin wasn't there.

His eyes turned down toward the pitch and his heart stopped.

Draco was falling. He broom falling separately, well out of reach.

Without another thought, Harry launched himself after his enemy faster than he'd ever dived for a snitch.

Draco's wand tumbled up passed Harry as he must have tried to draw it and lost his hold on it. He was now helplessly at the mercy of gravity.

Time simultaneously slowed and sped up as the distance between Harry and Draco narrowed, and then Harry was below him, slowing his descent just slightly. He felt a hand fumble at his back, and then two arms curled around him with a grip to rival a devil's snare.

Harry pulled up more sharply as Draco settled behind him, and a moment later, they were on the ground. A broom and a wand clattered into the grass next to them. For a few seconds, they were engulfed in silence. Neither of them moved. Draco was still clinging to him, and Harry realized that he had closed one hand around the arm pressed to his chest.

And then the entire stadium broke into wild cheers while Dennis Creevey stuttered out the final score before immediately devolving into a play-by-play of the "amazing rescue".

Draco seemed to snap out of his stupor, all but throwing himself off the broom. He snatched up his own broom, which was perfectly undamaged – the Mark 2 had a whole host of protective charms on it – and his wand before stalking off toward the Slytherin locker room. Harry assumed his glare was pretty severe judging by the way even Slytherins were scurrying from his path.

And then he lost sight of the blonde as Harry was swarmed by his team and then the rest of the Gryffindors. He'd never let go of the snitch, he realized.

It felt like hours, but was probably only about twenty minutes before Harry was able to escape to the locker room. He was glad that they'd won, but exhausted beyond belief, both physically and emotionally.

He lingered under the shower after everyone else had finished, unwilling to leave the relaxing spray of hot water that was beginning to return some life to his weary body and clear his jittery mind.

"Are you coming, Harry?" Ginny asked from the doorway.

He glanced over his shoulder to find her leaning against the doorway, staring at him unabashedly. It wasn't like she hadn't seen – and touched – it all before. He managed a small smile, "In a while," he said obscurely before dunking his head under the water again.

"All right," she said indifferently. He heard her yawn. "We're postponing the victory party until tomorrow anyway, since we're all too tired to properly celebrate. Try not to fall asleep in there."

He heard the door close again and allowed his thoughts to turn inward once more. After all the crazy shit he'd been through over the years, only once in his life had Harry been as truly terrified as he'd been today. That had been in the Room of Requirement when that Fiendfyre went mad and nearly killed them all.

But it wasn't him that he'd been afraid for. At the time, he'd convinced himself that it had been his friends he'd been so worried about. While he _had _been worried for them, he'd just discovered that this stomach-knotting, mind-numbing terror was evidently exclusive to someone else.

He had no idea when or how it had happened, but somewhere in the midst of trading hexes, exchanging biting slurs, and generally loathing the git with his entire being, all that hatred had turned into something completely different, but just as powerful.

At a loss as to what to do with his revelation, Harry finally turned off the water. He wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to the main room. "What the bloody hell is wrong with me?" he wondered, leaning his head on his forearm against his locker.

"Not a damn thing from this angle."

Harry spun around at the sound of the voice only to find himself staring wide-eyed at the very object of his brooding.

Draco was leaning against the wall next to the door, clearly showered and changed and looking as perfect as ever, a tiny smirk playing at his lips, which grew as those silver eyes trailed lazily down Harry's body and back up again. "Or this angle," he added thoughtfully.

"What are you doing in here?" Harry demanded, though it came out simply bewildered instead of incensed as he'd intended.

"Well, I came to properly thank you for saving my life," the blonde drawled, causing Harry's disbelief to mount further.

That stupid, superior smirk still twisting his lips, Draco slowly crossed the room to a paralyzed Harry, stopping far too close to him. "So are you going to let me show my appreciation?" Draco whispered, his lips hovering just over Harry's.

Harry reflexively wet his lips, watching silver eyes darken as the blonde closed the last minute distance. Warm, impossibly soft lips touched his and Harry's shock spiked as he realized that this was really happening, and then faded beneath his excitement.

Draco drew away just slightly after a moment, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Harry," he whispered, and Harry trembled at hearing his name whispered so lustily by a man who _never _called him by his name. "While I'm at it, I should probably thank you for saving my life in the battle," the blonde added, kissing him again. Draco's tongue brushed his lips this time and Harry moaned softly before the smiling blonde leaned away once more. "And I'd like to officially thank you for killing the Dark Lord," he said breathily, and this time, he crushed his lips into Harry's.

A hot, delicious tongue slipped into his mouth, and pure lust wiped away everything else. Before he'd even realized what he was doing, Harry had wrapped his hands around Draco's slim waist and all but threw him into the lockers, pinning him there with his own body while he devoured that sweet mouth.

He managed to divest Draco of his shirt and unbutton his trousers in the time it took his companion to remove Harry's towel.

Harry reached around Draco to retrieve his wand from his locker and broke the kiss long enough to cast the strongest wards Hermione had ever taught him around the room. He smirked when he saw the slight unease in Draco's silvery eyes.

"That's a lot to thank me for," he murmured against the other man's lips. "We're going to be here a while."

Lust replaced unease, and Harry captured his lips again.

* * *

**Before you ask, I am planning a sequel to this one, but I'm not sure when I'll get around to writing it. If you liked, please review. I'll leave a few lying around to feed my plot bunny infestation. **


End file.
